


Zero to Hundred

by Merrilly



Category: Mass Effect Trilogy
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-06
Updated: 2018-05-13
Packaged: 2019-05-02 19:43:24
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,765
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14552106
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Merrilly/pseuds/Merrilly
Summary: Commander Shepard is dead, but the mission must go on. Miranda Lawson is prepared to do whatever it takes to see it through. Even if that means building a relationship with Subject Zero.





	1. Chapter 1

The enemy is pressing forward. Blackened hands crawl up from the abyss. Hideous, twisted faces scream as the husks rush toward Miranda’s position, but the heavy bang of Shepard’s rifle rings out. _Blam_. A head explodes. 

The palms of Miranda’s hands warm up. Shepard’s a crack shot, but there are too many of these things, too fast. If they get close, it's over. So she gathers up a ball of biotic energy, places it in their path, and watches the mindless creatures sprint forward to their death. Shepard picks a few off with her rifle, while a burst of gunfire from Kasumi takes out the rest. The scraps of their corrupted forms dangle in the air. 

The commander’s eyes flash red in the dark. “Nice,” she breathes, and a wide grin splits her face. The cybernetic cracks in her cheeks are glowing. 

“There's more of them,” Miranda warns. She can hear the substructures groaning with the weight of more bodies. Fighting these things is tiresome in a way that few other enemies are. They just keep coming, soaking up round after round of ammunition with little attempt to evade. Shepard is the juggernaut of this group, far more heavily armed and armored than Miranda or Kasumi. She's practically a krogan. She should be on the front line.

But it's the commander’s call. Her well-timed headshots have saved Miranda’s hide more than once today. She's hanging back behind cover, nearly invisible in the darkness, while Kasumi scouts ahead and Miranda holds the center. If the situation demands it, Shepard will come charging out with SMGs ablaze and take the lead once more.

A humming whine pierces the air. Kasumi’s the first to call it. “Praetorian!”

Shepard sets down her rifle, eyes rolling. “Playtime’s over.” The commander is just as happy with a submachine gun in her hands, though. She peeks out from cover, waiting for the Praetorian to wander into her sights.

Miranda’s biotics and Kasumi’s short-range stealth maneuvers aren't much use against the behemoth; as another wave of husks begins to surface from the depths, Miranda focuses her fire on them. Best to keep them off Shepard while she takes the big one out. They’re easy enough to knock back down where they came from, but that might not keep them down for good; they haven’t stopped to look down and see how far the fall is. Miranda takes them out with slow, measured shots from her pistol, each one neat through the head. Kasumi picks off a straggler with her blade.

“Ungh!” Shepard's grunt comes over the comm, and Miranda whips her head around. She can't see the commander. Just the Praetorian, advancing toward Shepard’s position.

“Might want to move out of cover, Shepard,” Miranda shouts. She turns her biotics on the Praetorian quickly, warping and damaging some of its thick armor. It howls in rage. Shepard has an arm up on the railing, ready to vault over, but she raises her gun for one more burst of fire before she goes. Right into the weak spot.

Four glowing blue eyes—if that's what they are—narrow in on Shepard. The Praetorian rears back and fires. The particle beam sears through her weakened shields, her armor plating. The commander roars in pain. She tosses a grenade at the creature, then another. They burst in a halo of fire, and the Praetorian crumples to the ground. It begins to dissipate into a smoldering blue ash. But Shepard is still slumped behind the cover. Miranda can’t see her.

“Shepard’s down,” Miranda barks into the comm as she picks off one of the remaining husks. Kasumi nods in the shadows, readying an application of medi-gel. Unseen, she darts over to the commander’s location.

At last, there’s a moment of relative quiet. The groaning from below has died down. Miranda toes at a dead husk’s hand, pushing it back over the edge, and rushes behind the railing. “Is she okay?”

Kasumi is crouched on the ground, her hooded face invisible. The corner where Shepard was hiding is burned black. She’s not here—just her SMG, lying on the ground like a broken toy. Black dust swirls around Kasumi’s splayed fingers. Around the heels of Miranda’s boots.

“She’s gone,” Kasumi whispers. 

* * *

There’s no time to mourn, to plan, to process. Miranda grabs Kasumi by the shoulder. “We have to keep moving,” she declares. There’s a slight tremor in her voice, but it’s firm. “We need to get back to the ship. Come on.”

Miranda doesn’t wait for a response; she doesn’t expect one. She sets her jaw and moves forward.

As they approach the doors, EDI’s voice comes over the comm. “Miranda, I’ve lost contact with Shepard’s hardsuit. Requesting status update.”

“The Praetorian got her. She’s dead,” Miranda snarls. Having to say it makes it a lot harder to ignore, and that’s what they have to do until they make it out. The Collectors are still throwing everything they’ve got at the pair. It’s a nightmare without Shepard at the vanguard. Miranda’s biotics are powerful, but she’s been pushing them past their limits to keep herself and Kasumi alive. There’s a very real chance that they won’t make it off this ship.

“Joker, come in.” As the two women charge down a sloping hallway, racing to the exit, Miranda puts a hand up to her ear. With her other hand, she fires a pistol shot through the eye of an approaching husk. “We need a pickup _now.”_

“Yeah. Shuttle’s standing by.” Joker’s voice is hoarse in her earpiece. “Let’s get out of here.”

They can see the end of the tunnel at last. Freedom ahead, death behind. Miranda leaps over the edge, the black vastness of space beneath her feet for a moment, and then she’s in the Normandy’s shuttle. She turns back to ensure that Kasumi makes it across safely. Of course she does. The thief leaps over the gap like a frog, eyes still hidden beneath her hood.

As they sink down in opposite seats, the shuttle doors slide closed. After the blastoff kick, Miranda feels her shoulders relax, her chest deflate in a sigh. _Mission complete._

* * *

On the short trip up to the Normandy, Kasumi remains perched in the corner, gazing wordlessly out the window. Miranda’s brain works like a pinball machine through her immediate tasks. The Illusive Man has to know what happened. And Miranda has to know why he sent them into a trap. He _must_ have had a good reason to gamble with his greatest resource. Miranda’s never known him to lose a gamble before.

But Shepard’s more than just a resource. Or… she _was._

The news of her death has to be spreading across the ship already. They're all loyal to the commander in one way or another. At least Jacob is Cerberus, and Zaeed’s on their payroll. But Tali? Grunt? _Jack?_

If they don't see the bigger picture fast, there's going to be a mutiny to contend with.

The first crew member that makes eye contact with Miranda gets the order. “Get the whole team in the briefing room, ASAP.” She doesn't wait for an answer, just makes a beeline through the armory where Jacob stands at attention. It's hard to tell with him, because he's always looking grim about something or another. Well, if he doesn’t know yet, he will soon.

For a few blessed moments, Miranda is alone. The quiet and the silver blankness of the briefing room walls are dizzying after all the sensory overload of the past few hours. She closes her eyes and leans her hands against the table. _Stay sharp, Miranda._ The crew still needs a leader, even if everything else has gone to shit.

Before long, the team filter through the doors, one by one in rapid succession. First Jacob, looking serious as ever. Then Mordin, scratching the side of his head. Garrus and Samara. Thane and Tali. Grunt and Zaeed. Kasumi appears later than expected, finally letting a sliver of light touch her eyes. Then there's a lull.

Of course it's Jack who keeps them waiting.

The room is tense with a silence that no one is willing to break. No one except Grunt. The massive krogan paces left and right, snorting and scanning the others suspiciously. He punches a fist into his palm. “What's this about?” he grumbles. Then, louder: “Where is Shepard?” Across the room, Kasumi’s purple mouth twists into a frown, and Miranda exhales.

“Our mission on the Collector ship was successful,” she begins. She leans forward, hands pressed against the table, and stares at the tips of her thumbs. “We recovered intel that will get us through the Omega 4 relay. But Shepard…”

The door chirps and slides open, and Jack wanders in, her eyes flickering left and right as she takes in the scene. She crosses her arms over her chest and scowls, then leans against the wall. As far from Miranda as possible.

“...Shepard didn't make it back,” Miranda finally says.

There's a quiet chorus of gasps. Not from everyone; some had already pieced together the somber atmosphere and the commander’s conspicuous absence, but Miranda recognizes the sharp sound of Tali inhaling through her mask, the dignified shock as Samara releases a held breath.

“Keelah, this can't be true…” Tali’s shoulders slump.

After an almost-appropriate length of respectful silence, Zaeed whistles through his teeth. “Damn. Didn’t think anything could take her down.”

“It was a Praetorian,” Miranda explains, pushing herself off from the table. “Like the one we faced on Horizon. I know you all have questions, but—”

“No _shit,_ we have questions.” Jack storms forward all at once, eyes looking bloodshot, and slams the heel of her hand on the table. “How fast can I be off this goddamn Cerberus ship?”

Her mention of the word _Cerberus_ sends a ripple of murmurs across the room. Miranda shares a glance with Jacob, then returns Jack’s stare. Even making eye contact with her feels like a power struggle. “This has always been a Cerberus ship, and you’ve never had to answer to the Illusive Man. That’s not going to change.” She grits her teeth. “You don’t have to like _me_ , but we need to see this mission through. Shepard would want that.”

“She wouldn’t want the Illusive Man’s _pet_ grabbing the fucking reins before her body’s cold.”

 _There is no body,_ Miranda thinks, knitting her brow. But that’s both sad and beside the point. “There’s no time to mourn right now. The Collectors aren’t going to wait. And I’m the most qualified leader on this ship.” Her eyes scan across the room. Jacob is meeting her eyes, grim but faithful. The rest are distracted: Thane in prayer, Grunt pacing furiously, Garrus staring a hole in the floor. And Jack is still laser-focused on her.

“We can put it to a vote if you like. If anyone thinks they can do a better job, speak up.” Miranda folds her arms. She watches Jack’s head swivel left, then right in the silence. Her lips curl in frustration, and Miranda can’t help but feel a little satisfied.

“So that’s settled. If anyone needs to speak with me, I’ll be in my office. Later,” Miranda adds firmly. Now that she’s asserted her dominance, she allows her shoulders to drop just a bit, her voice to soften. “There are some calls I need to make. You’re all dismissed.”

It takes a moment for her words to sink in, but eventually, the crowd begins to dissipate. They trudge out of the briefing room one by one. Tali doesn't seem to notice what's going on until Garrus gently taps her on the back, guiding her toward the door. Jack shoulders her way through the line with fists clenched. She keeps her head squarely forward, but Miranda notices her eyes flash in her direction one last time. Miranda’s lip twitches.

Jacob is the last to remain. He watches the doors close behind Kasumi’s silent retreat, then turns to Miranda. “...Commander.”

“Don't start with that, Jacob.” She rubs her right temple. “I'm not Shepard.”

“I know, Miranda.” Jacob crosses his arms, and his lip twists as he puts his next thought together. “You just… tend to get caught up in your work. Don't run yourself into the ground. You don't have to do this alone.”

“Shepard did.” The words come out quieter than Miranda intended. Her fingers curl in on themselves for just a moment.

“Shepard was always making rounds on the ship, checking up on the crew. And she had Garrus, Jack, you.” Jacob leans forward against the table. “She's… she was an incredible woman. But not a one-woman army.”

“I have no idea how she made the time for it. ” Miranda huffs a laugh despite herself, shaking her head. “You think _small talk_ is going to save humanity?”

“Maybe not humanity. Maybe just you.” Jacob cracks a hint of a smile, but his eyes are still dead serious. “I'll let you get to work. Miranda.” He leaves her with a salute.

At last she has the room to herself—other than the ubiquitous presence of EDI, who's mercifully silent at the moment. Miranda exhales and braces herself against the console.

She closes her eyes, allowing herself a moment of rest. Just a moment. Who knows when the next chance will be. Miranda can still see Shepard's eyes, burning red in the dark.

Finally, she straightens her back and speaks into the console. “Get me the Illusive Man.”


	2. Chapter 2

The familiar profile of the Illusive Man cuts a black silhouette against the stars. The tip of his cigarette glows like his eyes; the rest is in the dark.

It never bothered Miranda, his distance from the people he worked with. Anything less would have gotten him killed long ago. But now, as his analytical blue gaze watches her materialize in front of him, Miranda feels an uneasy weight in her stomach. It’s some reassurance that the Illusive Man looks off as well. When he exhales a cloud of smoke, it sounds almost like a sigh.

“Miranda. For once, yours isn’t the face I wanted to see.” Just like her, he remains businesslike. Another puff on the cigarette, then a long plume of smoke. “Tell me what happened down there.”

Miranda’s jaw clenches before she speaks. “Shepard got pinned in a corner by a Praetorian. She must have misjudged her shield strength. Kasumi and I were holding off a wave of husks.” She pauses. “There was no way to get to her in time.”

“You don’t need to justify yourself to me, Miranda,” the Illusive Man cuts in. “I didn’t ask you to be Shepard’s bodyguard.”

She crosses her arms and looks down at the floor. “I know that.”

“I thought she was above that kind of mistake.” He stubs out his cigarette. “This _is_ a major setback. But we got what we needed off that ship.”

It’s difficult to find the words to the question that’s hanging over Miranda’s head. She likes to consider herself someone who considers all possible outcomes, but the Illusive Man leading Shepard into a trap—and Miranda along with her—was never part of the equation. It defies all logic.

He breaks the silence. “I don’t suppose you recovered the body?”

“The Praetorian… destroyed it.” It’s impossible to keep her face neutral as she speaks. Miranda swallows the discomfort that’s gathered at the back of her throat.

His mouth becomes a flat line. No need to guess what he’s thinking; it’s the four billion credits invested in the Lazarus Project, in the web of artificial muscle fibers and cybernetic implants that burned to ash beneath a particle beam. Two years of covert research not entirely wasted, but cut pathetically short. And nothing left to reanimate.

“The Collectors sprung a surprise attack on us,” Miranda says, obvious though it is. “And EDI’s analysis showed that our protocols should have caught the faked signal.” She keeps her voice steady, not accusatory. But she doesn’t back down from the Illusive Man’s gaze.

“I know. I sent you right into the trap.” He folds his hands. “If I had given you notice, the Collectors would have figured it out. We wouldn’t have had a chance to link EDI up to their ship.”

So there it is. Miranda sees his logic, but it would be easier to swallow if Shepard had survived. Especially since Shepard would be the one on the comm right now, yelling her every frustration directly into his face. She was never the type for cautious contemplation.

The Illusive Man continues. “Clearly, I misjudged the commander’s capacity to think on her feet. But you and Kasumi Goto did excellent work. The important thing is that we have our next step.”

“And what is that?”

He smiles. “The Collectors used an IFF of Reaper make to get through the relay. I have the location of a derelict Reaper where you can salvage one like it.”

“A _derelict Reaper_?” Miranda repeats, eyes narrowed. It’s hard to fathom one of the massive, sentient ships floating around unattended.

“It’s in the Thorne system, Hawking Eta. Badly damaged, but intact. We had a team of scientists aboard.” He pauses, grim. “While you're out there, find out what happened to them too.”

Boarding a supposedly-dead Reaper that disappeared a whole cell of Cerberus researchers. It's the kind of mission that Shepard would eagerly sink her teeth into. Miranda doesn't falter; it has to be done. But as her first task at the helm…

“One last thing.” The Illusive Man stands up. “There are a lot of people on that ship who don't trust our organization.”

“That's an understatement.” The words slip out of Miranda’s mouth unbidden. Maybe it's standing in the commander’s place that brings it out.

Amusement flashes briefly across his face. “Shepard was one of them. That worked to our advantage.” He grits his teeth. “Just keep them focused on the mission. The last thing we need at this point is an attempted mutiny.”

“Understood.”

“Good.” He turns to face the burning star. “Make us proud.”

The comm link is closed; the image of the Illusive Man fades into the white lights of the briefing room. Miranda tries to decide what he meant by “us.” Himself, Shepard, Cerberus, humanity...

What does it matter? She's only finishing what Shepard started. If that.

She trails her fingers along the table as she leaves the room, then against the cool walls of the hallway. Mordin is in the lab, gazing out into space with a hand at his chin; he doesn’t look up as Miranda passes through. On the bridge, the usual bustle of crew members has dissipated. Only a few are gathered in a small circle. Their whispers are inaudible, but the way they lean against each other’s shoulders says enough.

Kelly Chambers is leaning backward against her console. It’s the farthest from standing at attention Miranda’s ever seen her. Her eyes are rimmed red, remnants of mascara smeared beneath her lower lashes, and her lower lip is trembling.

Miranda is relieved to escape her notice. Watching the yeoman travel through the stages of grief in real time isn’t going to benefit either of them.

The third deck is eerily quiet, even for sleeping hours. There are some muffled voices leaking out from the crew quarters, but the ship feels otherwise deserted. Only when Miranda slips into her office does she feel at ease. Everything is as she left it, untouched.

When she's dressed down and buried beneath the covers, Miranda wonders whether she'll be able to sleep. The smell and the damp heat of the Collector ship are still hanging in her lungs. As soon as she closes her eyes, though, the full weight of the day's events hits. She plunges into a dreamless sleep. 

* * *

Exactly eight hours later, the cabin lights fade up to a sunny intensity, glowing through Miranda’s eyelids. She pushes herself out of bed, makes a straight line to the showers, then to the mess, where she dispenses herself a tall black coffee. There’s a stash of delicate vanilla biscuits in one of the drawers that no one but her ever seems to touch; she grabs a pack and takes it back to her office.

At her private terminal, Miranda sips the coffee between checking and replying to messages: A flood of condolences and congratulations from colleagues past and present. A few iPartner matches, summarily deleted. In a separate folder, the contents of Shepard’s inbox have been forwarded. Miranda skims the first few messages—mostly thank-you notes from random civilians, along with other junk mail. She'll dig into the rest some other time.

When she closes the inbox, resting her eyes for a moment, EDI’s voice chimes from the corner. “Captain Lawson, Shepard left a video message for you. You can view it in the cabin on deck one.”

The contents of EDI’s message are so alarming that Miranda forgets to react to the first part. She stops short, vanilla biscuit halfway to her mouth. “...A message?”

“Yes.” It’s probably projecting to think that EDI sounds somber. The AI’s tone of voice never changes. “The message was recorded approximately three months ago.”

In lieu of a response, Miranda pops the biscuit in her mouth and washes it down with the rest of her coffee. The bitter dregs cut through the confusion. It doesn't seem like Shepard to acknowledge the possibility of her own death, but perhaps she was more prudent than Miranda thought.

She sets the cup down and leaves the office at once. Thankfully, no one acknowledges her on the way up. 

* * *

It takes longer than it should to make it through Shepard’s door. It stands unlocked, waiting for Miranda to wave her hand and enter, but it still feels like an invasion of privacy.

EDI cuts in again. “Captain, you've been granted full access to this cabin.”

“I—yes. Thank you, EDI.”

Before she can reach for the door, it slides open on its own. Miranda is startled, but she proceeds through.

The console lights up, and EDI’s orblike form appears. “The video message is available on the private terminal. While you are here, you may wish to feed the fish.”

Miranda glances over at the aquarium. Inside, the fish swim in lazy circles, completely oblivious to their circumstances. There’s a button on the wall between the two panels of the tank. She brushes her fingers over it, and food rains down on the fish, drawing them up to the water’s surface. “You can’t do this yourself?”

“I have no access to the Normandy’s systems.”

She huffs out half a laugh. “Not even the fish food?”

There’s a pause before EDI’s response. “If I were to go rogue, there is a possibility that I could hold the fish hostage to force compliance. However, the probability of this occurring is minimal.”

Miranda chuckles despite herself. She makes a mental note to have Yeoman Chambers come up and attend to Shepard’s pets. Her hamster is still squeaking away at its wheel.

Her eyes roam over the other remnants of the commander’s life: her fleet of model ships, the books and datapads strewn across her desk, and the dent in the pillow on the left side of the bed. All of this will have to be sorted through at some point, Miranda realizes with a knot in her stomach. But the message comes first.

She swipes her hand over the terminal. The lights dim, and Shepard’s face appears life-sized on the side of the display case.

The vid’s age shows. Three months ago, the commander’s face was less damaged by stress on her muscle fibers. The cracks in her skin are less vivid, the brown of her eyes still visible behind the red optic implants. It’s almost chilling to see Shepard this way. Her scarred face was more familiar.

Shepard stands where Miranda is now, scratching the back of her neck. “Feels stupid doing this, but oh well. Here goes.”

She clears her throat, then steps closer to the screen. “Miranda, if you’re seeing this, it means I’m dead. Again.” Shepard laughs. “I’m not planning on letting that happen, but who knows. Last time wasn’t exactly planned, either. I figured I should do something to prepare this time.

“So… if anything happens to me, you’ll probably be next in the chain of command. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”

Miranda cracks a smile to match Shepard’s, shaking her head.

“Seriously, though.” The commander settles back into her uneasy expression. “I know you’re the most capable person on this ship, besides myself. I just don’t want everyone else to lose their shit. They wouldn’t like answering to a Cerberus officer. Neither do I, no offense.

“Tali’s a friend, so hopefully she’d stick around for my sake. She hates working with Cerberus, though. Just remind her that I’m not part of it and neither is she.” Shepard sighs fondly, shaking her head.

“Grunt… ah, he’s a handful.” She buries half her face in her hand, a grin peeking out from the other half. “If anything happens to me, you’re going to have to earn his loyalty. Some sort of physical power struggle. I don’t think you’re up to it.” She bites her lip. “I don’t know. Either get someone else to take care of him, or airdrop him on Tuchanka.

“And, uh, Jack.” Miranda grimaces, and it feels like Shepard can sense it, smirking back at her from the screen. “Look, I know you don’t like her… Just make sure _someone’s_ looking out for her. For one thing, when she gets off the ship, there’s gonna be a lot of casualties. But she deserves a friend. She’s been through some shit you and I can’t even comprehend.

“Basically, keep an eye on the folks down on deck four, I guess. Except Zaeed. He should be fine.” Shepard snickers. “Oh, and if you can, go ahead and bring me back again. I actually _really_ like being immortal.”

Miranda has to look away from the vid for a moment. The sight of Shepard’s face, eyes shining with unabashed confidence, threatens to overwhelm her.

“And as far as Cerberus… They’ve done a lot for both of us, but don’t let your guard down. Grunt said something when I took him out of the pod. Offer one hand, arm the other.” She punctuates the statement with a dark chuckle. “That’s all. Shepard out.”

When Miranda looks up, she sees Shepard leaning forward to end the recording. The screen goes dark, and the cabin lights fade up.

She sighs. Maybe coming here first thing in the morning wasn’t a great idea. It’s going to be difficult to adjust to the new order with Shepard’s laughter ringing in her ears.

* * *

At the end of the bridge sits Joker, same as ever. He may not be part of the core team, but he had a longer history with Shepard than anyone else on the ship. Not to mention he’s the one flying the thing.

“Joker,” Miranda greets him, coming to a stop a few feet behind his chair.

“Hey, Miranda.” There’s little energy in Joker’s voice, but he turns around to face her with a small wave. “We’re on course for the Citadel. Should get there in about two hours.”

“Good.” She’s never really talked at length with the pilot, so it comes out somewhat unnatural. “And good work yesterday. I don’t think any other pilot could have pulled off that escape maneuver.” Her admiration is genuine.

Joker shrugs. “Yeah, probably not.”

At least his confidence hasn’t changed, Miranda observes with approval. She crosses her arms. “Well, let me know if there’s anything you need. I’ll do what I can to accommodate.”

He heaves a sigh. “Look, I appreciate the effort, Miranda. But I’m good up here. As long as Cerberus cuts me a paycheck and doesn’t ask me to blow up a hanar orphanage, I’ll stick around. Right now I just need some alone time.” Joker glances over at EDI’s console. “Relatively speaking.”

Miranda raises her eyebrows. “Fair enough. I’ll leave you to it.”

“Later, Miranda.” He turns his chair back around. 

* * *

When she passes by the yeoman’s terminal again, Chambers has reappeared, looking only slightly worse for wear. Her face is bare, peachy-red from zealous scrubbing, and she greets Miranda with a forced smile. “Captain, you have a new message at your private terminal.”

It’s probably nothing urgent; Miranda’s spent enough time checking messages today, anyway. “Thank you, Chambers.” Then, remembering something, she steps closer. “Oh. I’ll grant you access to the cabin on deck one. Shepard’s fish need to be fed.”

“Yes. Of course, Captain.”

“Miranda is fine.” She waves her hand dismissively; the sudden formality seems to be putting a strain on everyone. “How’s the crew doing?”

“Samara wishes to speak with you when you get a chance. Also…” Chambers rubs her arm, tense. “There was some crashing down in Jack’s quarters a few minutes ago. It sounded… biotic.”

Miranda groans. “I don’t suppose you can check in on her?”

“Well…” Chambers looks paler than usual. “It’s not that I don’t want to do that, but…”

 _She’s afraid of getting shredded like newspaper if she says the wrong thing._ Understandable, Miranda thinks. She places a hand on her forehead.

“I’ll talk to her,” she mutters, already picturing what could have happened last time if Shepard hadn’t stepped in. Hopefully some of the commander’s wisdom stuck with Jack. As she takes the elevator down to deck four, Miranda hopes it’ll stick with her, too.


	3. Chapter 3

Oddly enough, the belly of the ship is a calming environment, despite some of the most volatile crew members having taken up residence here. The hum of the drive core vibrates through the walls and the floor, a kind of white noise that muffles the engineers’ chatter. Miranda doesn't usually have reason to come down here, so it's a new observation.

Still, there's nothing that can calm her nerves as she stands in front of the staircase that leads down to Jack’s… area. Her knuckles are white against the railing, her teeth gritted. _Come on, Miranda._

Even in her most optimistic estimations, there's no way a conversation with Jack could ever be pleasant. The fact that she was apparently having a tantrum down here a few minutes ago makes it even worse. With every fiber of her being, Miranda doesn't want to do this. It's her responsibility as captain, though. When she challenges herself— _are you seriously intimidated by a simple conversation with Jack?_ —it gives her the strength to force herself down the stairs, heels clanking stubbornly against the metal.

The scene is about what she expected: the various crates that litter Jack's living space are in utter disarray, scuffed and scattered on the floor like discarded toys. Judging by the marks on the walls, Jack had been tossing them around with wild abandon. Miranda enters cautiously, ready to shield her head from another projectile as soon as she turns the corner. But Jack is lying down on her back, gazing serenely (by her standards) at the ceiling.

When she catches sight of Miranda, her lips twitch into a scowl.

“Hey, Cheerleader,” she says coolly. “Surprised you came down here by yourself. Feeling suicidal already?”

Reflexively, Miranda clenches her fists. _Relax._ “Sorry, Jack, but I’m not afraid of you.”

“Your funeral.”

“Anyway.” What was she here to do again? She glances around at the mess, and her eyes stop on Jack. “I… where did you get those?”

Perched upon Jack’s face is a pair of thick black sunglasses. It’s strange to even think of it as a _pair_ ; it’s really just a single piece of material that lays over her eyes like a shield. Jack lifts her head slightly, and the glasses tip down onto her nose. “These?” She scoffs. “You came here to talk fashion?”

“I wouldn’t be caught dead in that,” Miranda clarifies. “I’ve just never seen you wearing anything other than pants.”

“Hilarious.” Jack’s voice is flat. “None of your business, but Max got it for me on Omega.” She says the name like Miranda should be familiar.

But she isn't. “Max?”

“Yeah?” Jack grunts. When Miranda doesn't respond, she props herself up on her elbows, looking mildly shocked. “Wait. You're telling me you never learned Shepard’s _first fucking name_?” Her eyes gleam with delight.

“It's Mackenzie.” Miranda frowns and crosses her arms.

Jack snickers. “Shit, you must have never called her that to her face.”

Miranda’s curious— _Jack was on a first-name basis with the commander?_ But she’s not curious enough to chat with Jack any longer than necessary. “I'm only here to find out why you were trying to blow a hole in the hull.”

In a single swift motion, Jack pushes herself up from the crate she'd been resting on and turns away from Miranda, facing the opposite wall. The light shines red over her tattooed back, casting a shadow in the hollow of her spine. The contrasting color makes it easier to spot the blue biotic glow gathering in her fingertips.

Jack hurls the crate with all her strength, not directly at Miranda, but close enough that she can feel the air brush her face. Just before it slams into the wall, she grabs it with her own biotics and lowers it gently to the ground.

“ _Enough_ ,” Miranda growls through her teeth. “This is our ship. Save it for the Collectors.”

“No, it’s _your_ ship, Lawson.” Jack bares her teeth in return.

“Whatever you want to call it. You’re still part of the team.”

“Am I?” Jack turns her back on Miranda again, her hands balled up in tight fists. “Boarding a Cerberus ship was stupid enough, but at least Shepard had the brains to question them. Why should I stay and take orders from you?”

“Saving the galaxy isn’t motivation enough? You know you’re going to die too, if the Collectors win.” Miranda’s eyes narrow.

Jack spins around and storms up to Miranda before she has time to react. She grabs the collar of Miranda’s suit, pulling hard enough to leave a mark, and their faces are just inches apart. It takes all the restraint Miranda can muster not to blast her across the room.

Disappointed by her lack of reaction, Jack lets go and steps away. “I can’t stay on this ship doing jack shit while you run around busting heads. I need to be out there. _Doing_ something.”

“Then I’ll take you ashore for the next mission. We’re going through the relay soon, anyway.” There’s a distant pang of regret at the promise; having to run a mission with Jack is an act of self-betrayal. But if it keeps the moody biotic from tearing a hole in the ship, so be it.

Miranda feels a sudden wave of empathy for Shepard. The commander must have had to make a lot of unfortunate compromises.

“We’re docking in the Citadel in two hours. There’s a shooting range there if you want to blow off some steam,” she continues. “But no more target practice on the ship.”

“Fine. Whatever,” Jack spits. She leans against an overturned crate, fingers still twitching. “Now get out of my face.”

It’s a better response than Miranda expected. Maybe Jack, too, is making an effort for Shepard’s sake. Or maybe she’s just tired. At any rate, Miranda’s happy to comply. She feels Jack’s eyes burning into her back as she ascends the stairs.

* * *

As soon as she’s out of range, she braces herself against the wall of the engineering deck and heaves a sigh, rubbing at her right temple. Even that brief encounter with was draining. Fighting alongside Jack for hours, without Shepard as a mediator… that’s going to be hard to bear.

“Miranda?” A hesitant voice calls out to her. “Are you all right?”

She looks up. Tali is frozen a few feet away, looking at her with concern. Presumably.

“...Yes.” Miranda straightens her back and runs her fingers through her hair. “Just checking on Jack.”

“Ohhh.” The quarian wrings her hands. “Is she, um... done?”

“Done launching crates against the walls? Yes.” Miranda glances down, as though looking through the floor to where Jack sits. “Hopefully it stays that way.”

Tali sighs wearily. “Well, that’s a relief. The noise was making it impossible to concentrate.” She shoots a look at the alcove where she usually works.

It’s obvious that Tali’s depressed. She’s never done much to hide her emotions; every word she speaks is saturated with them. Shepard’s death is still a raw wound. The tense environment on the ship—not to mention the noise—is only making it worse.

How like Jack to disregard everyone else around her.

“You should give yourself a break, Tali,” Miranda suggests. “Get some rest while we’re on the Citadel. I need you in top form when we face the Collectors.”

“Don’t worry about me. I’m ready to make them pay for what they’ve done.” Tali shakes her head. “I still don’t like working with Cerberus, but I’ll see this through for Shepard.”

“Good. We need your expertise,” Miranda says gently.

Tali meets her eyes through the veil of her mask. “Thank you, Miranda. Maybe you should get some rest too. You have those… things under your eyes that humans get.”

Without thinking, Miranda reaches up and taps at the delicate skin beneath her eyes. It does feel puffy. “...Thanks.”

On the elevator back up, she manages to catch a few seconds of shuteye. But in her mind, all Miranda can see is a montage of faces: the Illusive Man, Shepard, Jack, Tali, the empty eyes of the Collectors. She rubs through her eyelids until the images fade in a burst of colors.

* * *

Samara is sitting, same as ever, on the floor of the observation deck. Her hands and eyes glow with biotic energy, but her face and body are completely tranquil. Strange how the two most powerful biotics on the Normandy express their power so differently.

“Miranda,” she says as soon as the door slides shut. Even her voice is soothing. “Come and sit with me.”

Miranda obliges, taking a seat to the right of Samara. Rather than matching the justicar’s cross-legged stance, she folds her legs to one side. The metal floor is cool through her suit.

Despite her calm demeanor, Samara isn’t smiling. “I am sure you remember the oath I swore to Shepard.”

“Yes.” Miranda had been present when Samara knelt before the commander and pledged her unconditional obedience. It was an astonishing position for a justicar to take.

“Then you know I am no longer bound by it.” She pauses. “Truthfully, I am relieved. If she and I had both survived this mission, I would have been compelled by the Code to kill her myself.”

The easy way Samara says it makes the hair stand up on the back of Miranda’s neck. “I know Shepard did a lot of things unconventionally,” she admits, “but she always got results. The casualties were worth it.”

“That outlook makes you a perfect fit for an organization like Cerberus. I can see why you’ve advanced with them,” Samara says, a dark sort of amusement coloring her voice. Miranda chooses to take it as a compliment.

“So,” she says cautiously. “Are you leaving the ship?”

“That is the matter upon which I have been meditating,” Samara replies. “Joining this mission has allowed me to serve justice on many occasions. But Shepard was a free agent. I cannot swear allegiance to you while you work for Cerberus.”

Samara leaving would be a major blow to the Normandy’s team composition, especially after the death of Shepard. Any one person could be the difference between success and failure. Miranda’s jaw tightens. “No one else here took an oath, Justicar. You’re welcome to stay on without one.”

“I thank you, Miranda, but that is not an option. Asking me to choose between your orders and the Code would be dangerous for both of us.” Her neutral expression darkens into a troubled frown.

Not knowing what to say, Miranda lets the silence hang between them for a few minutes. Through the observation window, distant stars drift by like dust motes suspended in air. It’s quite peaceful. Easy to understand why Samara chooses to meditate here.

Finally, the asari speaks up again. “I will continue to think on this matter. If I cannot stay here, I will remain on the Citadel when you leave.” She turns toward Miranda with kind eyes. “Thank you for coming to speak with me.”

“Of course, Samara.” Miranda pushes herself up onto her feet, feeling somewhat refreshed. “You know where to find me.”

The justicar nods, and Miranda leaves her to her contemplation, catching another glimpse of the stars before they disappear behind the closing door.

* * *

She grabs another coffee on the way back to her office, where EDI’s voice chimes in as soon as she’s through the door. “Captain, you have an urgent message from Liara T’Soni.”

 _Odd._ It’s not surprising that the Shadow Broker would already be aware of Shepard’s death, but it’s hard to imagine what she would want with Miranda. Condolences aren’t urgent. “Put it through,” Miranda says as she settles in front of her terminal.

Immediately, Liara’s face appears on the screen, backed by the ambiguous shadows of her base. “Miranda,” she says, her firm voice colored with grief. It’s still strangely pleasant. “I just received word that you’re heading to the Citadel. One of my representatives will meet you there. Don’t look for them; they’ll find you.” Liara looks away. “I need your assistance with an emergent matter.”

Miranda’s eyebrows knit together. The Shadow Broker’s network of resources is practically unlimited—what does Liara need her for? It’s not as though they have the history together that she and Shepard had. Nor does Miranda have time to spare.

“It’s about Shepard,” Liara says, as though answering her question.

Startled, Miranda leans closer to the terminal. Liara’s blue eyes stare imploringly through the screen. “My agent will set up a secure channel for us when you arrive. I’ll explain the rest later. I thank you in advance.”

When the comm cuts out, an attachment of one hundred credits pops up. This only adds to Miranda’s confusion. That certainly can’t be payment for whatever mission Liara wants her to undertake.

She leans back, somewhat shaken. Even in death, everything still seems to revolve around Shepard.

* * *

Having spent the past few hours holed up in her office, methodically reading, answering, and deleting messages, Miranda is relieved when the ship finally docks. Most of the team disperses onto the various corners of the Citadel: Thane to C-Sec; Garrus, Tali, and Jack to the lounge; and Mordin, Grunt, and Zaeed to the shopping levels. Jacob and Kasumi stick with Miranda, flanking her as she passes through the security checkpoint. Kasumi shoots a forlorn look at the advertising pillars.

They emerge into the heart of Zakera Ward, where people of all species mill back and forth with their eyes straight ahead (those who have eyes, that is.) None of them seem particularly interested in Miranda and her companions. One human man meets her eyes from across the row, but she’s fairly sure his interest has nothing to do with the Shadow Broker. She turns away from his gaze.

“Something to eat?” she suggests to Jacob and Kasumi, who shrug gamely.

At the café, they pick up a shipment of high-grade rations to replenish Mess Sergeant Gardner’s supply on the ship, and a protein-energy shot for each of the three of them. It has a light, tart taste; some kind of Thessian fruit. Jacob’s makes him gag somewhat.

They continue down to the shops, where Miranda purchases a suite of shield upgrades for the team’s suits. Fortunately, the discounts Shepard had squeezed out of various Citadel merchants are still applied to the Normandy’s account. As they proceed through the ward, Miranda keeps an eye out for anyone watching their party. No one stands out. But they might just be good at their job.

On the other hand, Mordin, Grunt, and Zaeed _very_ much stand out. Miranda catches sight of the three at a weapons shop, arguing passionately with the turian behind the counter. They appear to be arguing amongst themselves at the same time. “Doesn’t look like anything serious,” Kasumi says as Grunt sweeps a model pistol off the counter and roars in the clerk’s face.

After they’ve seen pretty much everything of interest, Miranda leans against a railing to overlook the traffic while her companions browse the sushi bar. The vastness of the Citadel is still strangely beautiful, even in such grim times. The citizens here have no idea about the threat looming over their heads.

“Miss Lawson.” She feels fingertips brush against her shoulder, and she turns to see an asari maiden standing beside her. “This way.”

Miranda glances back at Kasumi and Jacob, who are perched on adjacent stools and separately engaged in cups of sake. They should be fine.

* * *

She follows the asari out of the public eye and down a row of identical apartments, each door numbered. They travel through a few twists and turns before arriving at number 192, which the agent unlocks with a swipe of her hand. The two women step inside.

The room is empty but for a holographic projection device in the center and a few storage lockers. The asari draws a long, rod-shaped device from her hip and runs it over Miranda from head to toe. It makes a loud humming noise as it travels. A burst of sparks pops from the vicinity of Miranda’s neck.

“You shorted out my suit radio?” she asks, annoyed as she rubs at the tingling skin behind her ear.

“Had to check for bugs,” the agent apologizes. “The Broker transferred you compensation for the damage.” _Oh._

After the asari exits the room with a cordial wave, the lights go dim. Liara’s form materializes out of the projector, shimmering blue before Miranda’s eyes. “Miranda. Thank you for coming.” Her voice is warm, although her face remains unsmiling.

“It was no trouble. But my time is in high demand. I don’t know if I can help you.”

“You’re the only one who can,” Liara insists. “If I had any other option, I would have taken it. Your connection with Cerberus is problematic. But I can’t trust anyone else with Shepard.”

“You’re going to have to explain, Liara.” Miranda crosses her arms, frowning. “Shepard is dead.”

Liara shakes her head. “I’m talking about a clone.”


End file.
